


the greek adage

by drainz



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christianity, Gen, M/M, Raised Apart, Religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:28:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21778309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drainz/pseuds/drainz
Summary: There's a town in middle-of-nowhere Minnesota called Blue Earth, and Dean Winchester's never been there in his life. Catches a case there and goes, only to meet the two hunters that live in it - pastor Jim Murphy and his son, Sam.(John leaves baby Sam to a church in the hopes he'll be purified, spells Dean to forget his brother, and raises him as his only son. Jim takes Sam in and raises him as his own; the boys meet aged 16 and 20 having no idea they're related. Can be read as pre-slash or gen.)
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 7
Kudos: 36





	the greek adage

There was a fire, and then John drove north.

Could’ve gone any which way, he supposed. Wasn’t like he knew where he was going, much as he tried to tell Dean otherwise. He just - got them all in the car, and the headlights pulled north like a needle in a compass, so that’s the way he went.

For the boys, he stopped, but John rarely slept himself. All his dreams were Mary. Mary and creatures with yellow eyes. Snakes, wolves. 

Little Sammy. 

His four-year-old always had his six-month-old in his arms, now, like some kind of low-level trauma bonding. Wouldn’t let the kid out of his sight. It would be sweet, if not for -

It was sweet.

Took a few months of reading before John learned something useful, but he learned quick. Learned about the creepies and the crawlies and as for guns, well, he already knew about guns. He was in ‘Nam, he could handle a damn ghost. 

More he learned, though, more sure he was about his youngest.

John had never really been religious until the devil was in his child.

He didn’t breathe a word of this to Dean, would have never. But they stayed up north until somebody with magic - mage, witch, John didn’t damn well know - owed him a favor.

Then he collected, filled his tank, and drove east ‘til they ran out of gas. Took Sammy from where he’d fallen asleep in his brother’s arms, swaddled him up cozy in the bassinet, and set him on the stoop of a quaint Protestant church not far from the river. Brought the favor out from the glove compartment; pressed it into his oldest’s slack, sleeping mouth.

He drove them to a motel in the next town, tucked Dean into bed, and then allowed himself a shudder. 

–

The next time Dean Winchester ended up in Blue Earth, Minnesota was sixteen years later at wind of a case in town. He’d been on a hot streak ever since his dad handed over the keys to the Impala, and from what he’d gathered this next one seemed like a breeze - poltergeist acting up when a new family moves into an old house in some middle-of-nowhere town - so he was betting on getting in and out quick. Bust the ghost, report to Dad, done.

What he wasn’t betting on was there being other hunters there already - though Dean would barely call them that. A pastor and his teenage kid. This was their town, though, and the family went to their church, so Dean was gracious enough to give them dibs. But the father gently said that he always welcomed a helping hand, and the son nodded placidly, and, well. There Dean was. 

He caught Sam Murphy eyein’ his sawed-off as he was cleanin’ the thing, and he smiled and said, “Maybe I should teach ya how to shoot one, huh? If you’re gonna be comin’ along with your dad and me.”

Sam’s eyes flicked up to Dean’s, and he grinned. “Wow, really?”

He wore a cross around his neck and had the innocence to match, but, weirdly, Dean didn’t mind so much. “Absolutely. As long as he says it’s okay.”

The kid dragged Dean along with him to go ask, and Jim shared a private smile with his son before turning to Dean and nodding. 

In a bit of woods near the river, Dean spray-painted a target onto a wide tree, then walked the ten paces back to Sam. 

“Alright, well, first, you gotta know how’ta hold the thing, right?”

Sam bobbed his head eagerly, so Dean continued by demonstrating, and then showing Sam; repeated that process showing him how to work the tang safety, the pump-action, so on, the kid readily following along, until Dean was willing to let him shoot.

He let off a round himself, first, hit just left of the center, and Sam clapped. 

“You think you got it?” Dean asked, smiling as he handed over the gun. He corrected Sam’s posture, then - 

Sam fired a shot from the same ten paces, then one with each step back as he went to fifteen. He laid the shotgun on the ground when he ran out of shells, but backed up five more paces, and fired twice from a revolver Dean hadn’t even seen he had on him.

“Know how to fucking shoot, smartass,” he said, then tucked the revolver back in his pants and started walking back towards the church.

The grouping was just to the right of Dean’s shot, naturally.

Dean found Sam laying at the end of a pew; they caught eyes, then Sam’s flicked back to his rosary beads.

A ghost of a smirk crossed the kid’s mouth, and Dean, Dean had been played.

He sat down in the next pew. “So, I misjudged you.”

Sam looked over again briefly at that, and Dean felt himself smiling. 

“Happens.”

“Does it?”

“All the time.” Sam rolled his thumbs on a Hail Mary, then held the prayers to his chest, staring up at the ceiling instead. “Hopefully we won’t have to shoot it.”

Dean’s brow furrowed. “The poltergeist? Why not? It wasn’t even a person, it’s just the normal kind.” 

“It just wants attention,” Sam countered. “That’s what the ‘normal kind’ are, you know. A manifest, disembodied craving for attention, with no normal way to ask for it or receive it. I can’t imagine the kind of pain that creature must be in just existing.”

“… I’ve never thought about it like that.”

“Most people don’t care to,” Sam conceded. “The outcome is the same, either way. Put the thing out of its misery.”

“Without shooting it.”

Smirk, again. “Hopefully.”

Jim finished preparing the purification; Sam and Dean cleared the family out of the home. 

The three of them finished the ritual without firing a shot.

It felt lucky; Dean told Sam so. Sam shrugged. “God helps those who help themselves.”

**Author's Note:**

> friends, pals. i could write so much more sam murphy. i love this boy. maybe this'll be a verse or something.


End file.
